A Life Well Spent
by carouselfancy
Summary: The decision is easy because there is no price he would not pay to keep her safe. Alistair slays the archdemon AU (because I will never, EVER make this canon).


Blood.

There is _so much blood_.

His armor is covered in the stuff, and only some of it is his. The stench of it fills his nostrils, tempered only by the suffocating cloud of sulfur and rot. He feels as though his bones have been liquefied, and every muscle in his body aches.

But the damned archdemon has finally fallen. It's lying prone at the peak of Fort Drakon, slowly exsanguinating in a pool of black blood. He almost can't believe it.

All that's left now is to actually finish the job.

Alistair knows he should have taken her concerns about Riordan more seriously, but he had been so desperate to believe that this could all turn out okay that he had simply waved her off. And now here they are. Staring at the beast. Silent.

A shiver of movement catches the corner of his eye, and he turns just in time to see Olivia start toward the felled archdemon. His blood freezes at even the thought of what she is suggesting now with that tiny movement, and before he can even think, his hand darts out to catch her elbow.

"No."

She turns to meet his eyes, and hers are dark with sad determination. And he knows then. He knows, at that moment, that she has expected this all along, from the moment Riordan had revealed the truth to them; she has known it would fall to them from the beginning.

He shakes his head, knowing it's futile to argue but desperate enough to try anyway. "Let me do it."

The idea is so absurd, so non-negotiable to her, that she barely raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment. "You're daft if you think I'll let you anywhere near that archdemon." Her tone is cold, but he can hear the tiny warble beneath it. He takes a step toward her, clutches her shoulders gently in his hands. He tries to smile jovially down at her, but the wet shine of her verdant eyes makes him falter.

"It's like you said, when all this started. I'm the real Warden here." Her glare is blazing and he sighs, closes his eyes, finds warm solace in the touch of her forehead against his. "You've given up so much for this. I can't let you give up your life as well."

She pushes against his forehead with her own. "If you do this, that's exactly what will happen."

"And if _you_ do it, it'll be the same for me," he counters archly, pulling back his head to give her a pointed raise of his brow, "so I suppose we're at an impasse."

For a very long time, they merely glare at each other in silence. Alistair knows she will not budge on this. She has made it very clear, a thousand times, in a thousand ways, that she would face any measure of harm or misery for his sake. It is her worst trait, and it makes his heart clench with adoration. But there is not a single thing that Alistair believes in, not a single cause in this entire Blighted world that he would die for, more than this woman in his arms. And so he nods, and he closes his eyes, and he kisses her, and he wraps his arms so tightly around her that he wonders if they might fuse into one being, so they would never have to be apart again.

And when she relaxes and melts against him, his eyes open again. Find the piercing gold ones that, for the first time, have not averted themselves from his display of affection. Those eyes hold an understanding that has never before passed between them, and Alistair feels a sense of peace settle over him. He gives a discreet nod.

Olivia goes stiff against him and the ozone burn of magic fills his nose and throat. He pulls away from her, and the pure, terrified shock that breaks across her face makes his heart wrench. She looks down at the glyph beneath her feet. After a few futile attempts to move her legs to test the magic, her face melts into panic as it meets his. He takes another step back. His lip trembles, and he has to clench his jaw to hold back the tears that are choking him.

"No - "

"I'm sorry." He is surprised when his voice comes out barely more than a whisper.

Her head whips around to glare at Morrigan, and she yanks her body like a frenzied animal against the spell that has frozen her feet to their spot. The other woman gives her an apologetic frown, but does not move her staff.

She looks back to him, and her face crumbles. "No, Ali, please."

He backs further away from her, feeling as though a despair demon is clawing at his chest. A wail escapes from her throat, and she thrashes against Morrigan's magic.

" _Alistair!_ Please don't do this. Please. _Please_."

She falls to her knees with a sob. It takes every ounce of will in his body not to run to her, to scoop her into his arms.

"Please don't make me watch you die."

He squeezes his eyes shut instead, and feels a tear burn a path down his cheek. But his resolve is hardening, becoming tempered steel, and he knows that if saving her life is the last thing he does, it will be a life well spent.

He turns his back on her, on her desperate screams, and with the last dregs of energy he has left, he charges toward the archdemon.


End file.
